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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24718813">Formation</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doublefallen/pseuds/Doublefallen'>Doublefallen</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magika | Puella Magi Madoka Magica, Pocket Monsters: Black 2 &amp; White 2 | Pokemon Black 2 &amp; White 2 Versions, Pocket Monsters: X &amp; Y | Pokemon X &amp; Y Versions</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU Hell, Aftermath of Violence, Bad French, Being Meguca Is Suffering, Calem just wants peace, Crossover flavoured lacroix, Diantha is a bitch., Fuck Cannon, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm too hopped up on caffeine for proper tagging or remorse, Iris is some new type of unhinged, Magical Boys, Magical Girls, Not Beta Read, Not even slightly beta read, Other, Platonic Soulmates, Serena is a sentient emotional issue, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Suffering, TOO MANY COMMAS, The Author Regrets Nothing, The Pokémon fandom tags are literally just there because it's a AU of that, i have no clue what i'm doing, turning into a eldritch abomination to cope</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 01:08:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,986</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24718813</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doublefallen/pseuds/Doublefallen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In the midst of great turmoil and fear, a Parisian boy is offered a reality bending wish, and is dropped headfirst into the midst of brewing conflict. </p><p>Across the channel, London struggles on unsteady feet as the magical population runs on scant resources</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Desipientia</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It is November of 2015. Calem's luck has run out.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <i>Diegetic listening: Incertus from the Puella Magi Madoka Magica OST</i>
</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Calem would like to think he's made good choices.<br/>
He'd also like to think back to the string of choices that brought him to his current state; facedown in a pool of his own blood, feeling his conscience dribble away like so much treacle.</p><p>He had plans for the day - nothing special, but still <em>plans. </em>Get out of school, crash at the dorms - and take a look through that new novel he'd had his eyes on for a while, <em>maybe</em> put a dent in that English homework he has due Thursday, but <em>no,</em> Calem, in his infinite wisdom had decided to skive off school - <em>just the one day</em> - and check out the theaters. </p><p>Well. It's not like he'd <em>wanted </em>to die. </p><p>Two miles away, a girl stretches in front of a dance mirror. There's a weigh in today. She knows she'll probably need to shed a few pounds, as usual.  </p><p>"Stelles?-"</p><p>She doesn't look up from her pointed toes. </p><p>"Estelle?"</p><p>Estelle grumbles, and hauls herself to her feet. She must stand perfectly straight, as if she is being pulled up by a invisible thread. </p><p>"Yeah? I'll be in in a minute. I just want to stretch my legs."</p><p>She casts a glance over herself in the mirror - small, too flabby, too pasty to be anything special, she thinks - no, <em>knows</em> -</p><p>Her eyes flick to the ring on her left hand - the gem is almost totally black - something far to dark to perceive properly- </p><p>What did Cyubie say would happen when her gem turned black? </p><p>Estelle wishes she could remember. Her lungs feel weak - </p><p><em>Ah. </em>She's tired. Her lungs feel weak. She wants to head to practice-</p><p>Something tells her she'd be better off staying put.<sub>She should have asked what happens- she should have brought that spare seed - she <em>knows</em> where she left it - at home in the top drawer of her dresser, under her school socks- she should have-</sub></p><p>
  <em>-crack-</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>He's certain he's hallucinating, now. Or has finally kicked it.</p><p>
  <em>Your soul has great potential -</em>
</p><p><em>"</em>Please just-"</p><p>Is that a <em>cat? </em>With ... ears growing out of it's ears?</p><p><em>I</em> feel<em> like I should be very brief now. You are loosing rather a lot of blood. I can offer you a wish - for anything, as long as your soul truly desires it.</em></p><p>
  <em> In exchange, you fight Witches for the good of all Humanity. Would you make a contract with me?</em>
</p><p>"Yes- <em>shit-"</em> </p><p>Calem tastes iron. </p><p>
  <em>Very well. With what wish shall your soul shine?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"I want to live-'</em>
</p><p>He coughs - once - twice</p><p>
  <span class="big"><em>'<strong>I want to live</strong>"</em></span>
</p><p>
  <em>Congratulations, your soul has successfully reduced Entropy</em>
</p><p>Light coalesces in front of his eyes- seeming to pool out from his chest- bright blue- blue, blue- </p><p>Blood drags itself back into his body- wounds close up-</p><p>Calem has to squint to not be blinded by the light - but he can sit up - </p><p>
  <em>Take your soul gem - for it is your destiny</em>
</p><p>- And catch the thumb sized gem in his hands - a deep sapphire - bordered with gold filigree, crested with a small wing.</p><p>He needs someone to pinch him. He thinks he's dreaming.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Rest</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Serena is late to the scene. Calem's mother is very relaxed</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Calem doesn't remember much of what happened after . . . That.</p>
<p>He remembers a lot of noise- screaming-crying, more shooting - explosions- and then the ambulance sirens - to salvage - he thinks.</p>
<p>He's sat on the edge of a too-soft hospital bed, staring vacantly into a ring that has so kindly set itself onto his left hand. If he looks closely he can read off his own name in some form of loopy, deeply archaic runework.</p>
<p>He supposes he can thank his apparent magical ability for that instant translation.</p>
<p>"Sir? Could I get your name and age? We want to confirm some things."</p>
<p>A nurse. Not the one that had checked his vitals, or taken blood- but hey. Company is company, no matter how run off it's feet it looks.</p>
<p>"Calem Xavier Maigrét, fourteen years old. My father is Jean Luc Maigrét, and my mother is Marie Dupont."</p>
<p>"Thanks. You've understandably gone into shock, and you're a little bruised up, but asides from that, I think you need a few months off school to rest. Your parents are on the way."</p>
<p>Sounds ... sounds ... </p>
<p>He can't tell what that sounds like. He <em>is</em> tired. </p>
<p>
  <span class="small">"Rrm."</span>
</p>
<p>Calem thinks he might try and catch some sleep. He supposes he has a half hour or so til one of his parents deigns to come for him.</p><hr/>
<p>Serena's worried. </p>
<p>Calem's been home for all of a day, and he hasn't eaten - or slept since ... she does know when.</p>
<p>Then again, he has just survived what the media is beginning to refer to as "The Paris Attacks". So she supposes she can understand that. She'll . . . Leave him be for a little while.</p>
<p>"Ms Dupont - thank you for letting me into your home -"</p>
<p>Marie Dupont would like to think she's a woman of good taste. But this girl - a close friend of her son, somehow seems to strike some chord in her. </p>
<p>Perhaps it's the thick, rough American accent- hard, and slightly raspy - hard for her to place exactly - or perhaps her appearance - tanned, and very strong looking with some of the brightest blue eyes she's seen on a human -</p>
<p>"No need to be so formal, Serena. You are a friend of my son."</p>
<p>"I made shortbread coo- biscuits, and made plenty extra. I thought I might as well bring you a few boxes-"</p>
<p>Wow - The girl wasn't kidding when she said "A few boxes" - four - safely more than a <em>few</em> but ... it does smell <em>very good.</em></p>
<p>What is it with Americans and food?</p>
<p>Well. Marie isn't about to complain.</p>
<p>"Oh - Serena- you absolute star, you shouldn't have- these smell positively <em>amazing"</em></p>
<p>Serena feels her ears heat up, choosing to ignore it. </p>
<p>"Thank you, Ms Dupont-"</p>
<p>"Call me Marie, <em>please</em>."</p>
<p>Serena blinks owlishly. That seems a little impolite to her. </p>
<p>"If you insist-"</p>
<p>"Anyhow- Serena, you speak excellent French! I'll put the kettle on for tea. Calem will probably wake for that."</p>
<p>Marie isn't really worried about her son. He'll be fine in a few days. </p>
<p>Just had a nasty shock, is all.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>It's very late as of posting, but hhhh gotta write.<br/>EDIT: finally got some of this beta read ... lightly. Just cleaning up some grammatical errors</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Exploration</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Calem tests his strength,and finds himself lacking.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
 <sub><strong> <em>Information pulled from the MTA (Magi Tracking Array) : The best magically enhanced and concealed information system in Europe.</em> </strong></sub>
</p>
<p>
  <sub><strong> <em>Soul Gem:</em> </strong><br/>
<strong> <em>It isn't certain how exactly the Incubators are able to take a ethereal concept such as the soul, and condense it to crystalline form. However, it serves as a reminder that one should take utmost care of one's own soul gem over the physical body. Any damage to the body can be healed, whereas damage to the Soul Gem cannot be healed.</em> </strong></sub>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <sub><em>Soul gem- soul gem. Cyubie- Why's it called that?.'</em></sub>
</p>
<p>Calem <em>thinks </em>the phrase rather than actually...speaking it- something he's not used to getting a response from </p>
<p>Calem's up, teetering on the edge of his bed and eyeing his soul gem with something he rather hopes isn't wariness.</p>
<p>
  <em>Simple. It is your soul. To ensure that you don't die the minute you take a injury, it has been extracted and stored in a vessel more durable than your body.</em>
</p>
<p>He mulls it over, for a minute. It's been a lot of information to take in - his limited telepathy now - and lord knows what else - he hasn't <em>tried </em>yet - and he isn't sure how to try it. </p>
<p>But then again, he was dead on the floor yesterday. So that does rather prove his human fragility. </p>
<p>
  <sub></sub>
</p>
<p>
  <sub></sub>
</p>
<p>
  <sub>'Fair. - Magic?'</sub>
</p>
<p><em>Magic</em>.</p>
<p>Instinct tells him he needs his soul gem - which handily manifests itself on the knuckles of his outstretched hand - right where it would sit as a ring, he notices- </p>
<p>
  <sup></sup>
</p>
<p>
  <sup>He isn't quite sure what happens - it's almost like he nudges himself forwards - and the gem extends bright blue streamers reaching out to grasp him - and for a second, he feels soil beneath his feet, standing in a vast forest with sunlight filtering through the trees. He feels himself fall through the ground as the roots of some great tree net together to cushion him- a flash of light- and the sensation of being tipped back onto his feet</sup>
</p>
<p>Blink-blink- He eyes his phone - not even a <em>second </em>has passed - but he was in that forest for at <em>least</em> a minute-</p>
<p>
  <em>"Is that normal?"</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Yes. We don't quite understand why you humans insist on such intense hallucinations for a period of time barely perceptible, but we're putting it down as being a human thing.</em>
</p>
<p>Calem grunts at the thing, and casts his eye over himself in the mirror. He seems to be wearing something vaguely similar to a doublet- bright blue, and made of some very expensive looking silk, grasping a sleeve and tugging - loose down to his wrists, and slightly puffy, and even more slightly translucent- enough to catch a glimpse of a darker sleeve running up under to form what he assumes is his vest - </p>
<p>Blink-blink. He checks his left hand - and finds a sturdy leather gauntlet running up to his forearm- the kind he sees on archers in those documentaries about the medieval period- and immediately puts two and two together- he's dressed like some odd fusion of old time naval general circa ... Napoleon ... <em>God, he hates white pants, why does he have to wear them ...</em> and some boy out of a fairytale. </p>
<p>Hey - though, his boots are cool - made of the same leather as his gauntlet, ending just at his knees, and studded through with some kind of fanciful silver decoration - oh - and his soul gem - he feels it at his throat - the shape of a single dove wing, held in place by a thin chain.</p>
<p>Calem can hear Serena talking to Mama downstairs. Something about shortbread- </p>
<p>A feel of his hair tells him that he's gained some kind of long, dangly hairpin on one side of his head - gold, with one end of the thin chain ending with a tiny blue gem dangling shy of his brow,and the rest looping away into a deep filigree</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong> <em>"Calem?"</em> </strong>
</p>
<p>Crap. De-transform.</p><hr/>
<p>Calem looks exhausted, Serena thinks. How long has he been wearing those same pajamas? </p>
<p>Well. At least he came when called. </p>
<p>Serena points at a mug of tea. Ms Dupont had sidled out of the house a few minutes ago, citing a business meeting.</p>
<p>"Tea. Y'mum fucked off to some business meeting. Get yourself something to eat- shortbread?"</p>
<p>Calem makes a show of rubbing his eyes - and makes a odd little grunt.</p>
<p>"Thanks. Gonna get dressed soon. Wanna go down to the park."</p>
<p>Serena watches Calem hoover up two shortbread cookies and his tea with something resembling disdain.</p>
<p>"Slow down, Cal, y'dumb pig- mind if I tag along?"</p>
<p>Calem nods- and heads up to dress.</p><hr/>
<p>Serena looks up from her phone, and towards the veranda. There's very few people out today - it can't be the weather, can it? </p>
<p>Either way. She's here for the ladies. Not to question the weather - ah, perfect, no queue- </p>
<p>Actually, there's nobody in here at all-</p>
<p>Come to think of it, she's way too far back in the building- far beyond the ending of the building itself- </p>
<p>And it's more like a <em>cinema </em>than a bathroom now -</p>
<p>Serena turns on her heel and heads for the exit. She's not about to deal with some weird error in the space-time continuum. </p>
<p>No thanks. That is not allowed to be how she dies. </p>
<p>Calem isn't sure why his soul gem is leading him to the ladies bathroom. Did the Witch have to manifes-</p>
<p>"Calem-"</p>
<p>"Serena-"</p>
<p>"There's something goin' on in there - something trippy-"</p>
<p>Calem casts a side long glance at his soul gem. Yup. It's definitely in there.</p>
<p>"I'm... going to take a look."</p>
<p>Serena steps back, and frowns. </p>
<p>"<em>No.</em>"</p>
<p>It doesn't matter to him, he thinks as he pushes past Serena and starts to traipse into ... the Labyrinth- he supposes. </p>
<p>That's the only real way he can describe this meshing of environments - a gradual change from a set of toilets cubicles, to a increasingly less ruinous cinema -</p>
<p>
  <em>Gestaltz - the Spiral Witch </em>
</p>
<p>He blinks - the runes had overlaid his vision completely - hovering in his direct line of sight no matter which way he looks -</p>
<p>Well. It's supposed he'd better transform- finding a traditional longbow in his right hand- glancing up to find ... a butterfly-book thing flitting over head - </p>
<p>Hm. It's ignoring hi- <em>no, no, crap, it's found him, it's found him-</em></p>
<p>Calem near instantaneously learns that he can fire off multiple arrows in rapid succession <em>somehow -</em> some hand technique he isn't aware he knows- </p><hr/>
<p>He's regretting this- the book-things spew some sort of gloopy  acid when killed, and there's only so much you can do against a <em>cinema screen with legs</em> when your sole form of combat is ranged -</p>
<p>Gestaltz must be taunting him like this; lumbering about spiralling through lines of Chaucer like a drunken Literature teacher -</p>
<p>He's missing a arm too- and a portion of his neck and face, melted down to gore and bone - </p>
<p>Serena's beginning to wonder what's taking Calem so long when a girl - older than her by a good few years <em>rushes </em>past her - and heads down the way Calem went. Odd. </p>
<p>She's not dumb enough to follow. But Calem- </p>
<p>Fuck. </p><hr/>
<p>Calem squints into the distance - and considers trying to fight back. He has approximately one arm, half a jaw, and should be dead, by far- </p>
<p>He catches a flash of white snaking out of his peripheral vision- a shout- the noise of metal tearing itself apart- then silence. A hand on his shoulder, a chastising voice-</p>
<p>Calem would rather like to know what just happened, please and <em>thank you</em>.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Recovery</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Arielle clears the air. Serena receives a offer</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Name?"</p><p> </p><p>The figure looms over him - they're considerably older than him, that much he can tell.</p><p>"Calem. I contracted recently-" It's funny - if he thinks about his injuries he can't exactly feel the pain he expects from wounds like this - but if he pushes a little magic - barely anything, really - in the right places he can feel the damage heal up - face first, of course. He does want to see out of his other eye-</p><p>"Ooh- ow- Okay, that's rather nasty to watch - My name's Arielle. I won't hurt you."</p><p>Calem blinks, rubbing at his eyes as his arm rebuilds itself from the bone up- before hauling himself to his feet -</p><p>Arielle looks to be a good deal older than him - maybe seventeen, eighteen, dressed in a pure white dress and diamond studded fur coat, a deep shade of coffee brown -</p><p>He eyes her weapon warily.</p><p>"Cool, isn't it? It's a whip, but bladed along four points. It's semi-prehensile, so I'm pretty accurate with it. Cuts through <em>everything</em> like butter."</p><p>He manages a noncommittal grunt - and realises that he's been staring at the girl for too long. Right into her eyes. </p><p>Brilliant. Trust his brain to stop working the minute someone acknowledges him</p><p>"So I take it you're a healer, then. What's your weapon?"</p><p>Calem opens his mouth - and then closes it. </p><p>"<em> Fantastic </em> , it's working on kids too now. Ugh. Right, let me just explain <em> my </em> primary ability first - Charm. I can persuade anyone into believing anything I say is fact. Apparently it's started affecting you now- what, how old are you, fifteen, sixteen?"</p><p>"Fourteen. And it's a longbow."</p><p>He flinches with his de-transformation. Still not used to the bright light.</p><p>Arielle's eyes widen very briefly - and then return to normal. </p><p>"You're tall for your age. But you sound young. Come walk. I'll walk you back to the front of the building.</p><p>Serena hears talking - Calem, and someone else - female.</p><p>"Calem? You 'aight? Oh - hi. I'm Serena."</p><p>Serena is immediately taken aback by the sheer decadence of dress on this girl - perfectly white sundress, perfectly white fur coat and positively <em> dripping </em> in diamonds - not to mention that really lively looking diamond on her ear-</p><p>"Arielle Miné. I was in the middle of a pho-"</p><p>"Tell her what happened truly."</p><p>Arielle swivels to almost glare a hole into the side of Calem's head - before softening.</p><p>" <b><em>Don't </em></b><em>talk over me. </em>Sure. I take it she got drawn into the Labyrinth-"</p><p>Serena assumes Arielle is referring to her. </p><p>"Come on. Let's check the café out. I'll get you a drink."</p><hr/><p>Within five minutes, Calem finds himself nursing a cup of tea. Serena seems to be drinking a lot more carefully than normal. </p><p>"<strong>So</strong>. I'm a magical girl. Calem over there is a magical boy - or whatever he wants to call himself. Much rarer, but there's been a flux in non-female contracts recently."</p><p>Arielle punctuated the first word by abruptly de-transforming and summoning her soul gem to her hand. </p><p><em> You might want to do the same </em>, Arielle thinks - and Calem obliges.</p><p>"What you walked into back there was a Witch labyrinth. They lure in humans for … reasons. This thing here is my Soul gem - proof that I'm a Puella Magi, alongside the mark on the middle finger of the left hand"</p><p>Calem checks - and true to her word, there's the mark of a blue wing under the nail on his left middle finger. </p><p>
  <em>Care if I join? </em>
</p><p>It's Cyubie - jumping down from the cafe roof to land rather adroitly on the table between them.</p><p>Serena very slowly places her mug back onto the table. </p><p>"What the <em> hell </em>is that-"</p><p>
  <em> Rude </em>
</p><p>"She's a Incubator. The fact that you can see it at all shows that you have potential as a magical girl. Contracted me, and probably Calem here too."</p><p>
  <em> That is true. Your potential eclipses both of these two combined easily- most likely more still. Would you make a contract with me?</em>
</p><p>She ... doesn't want for anything. She's safe, cared for ... has a mother ... she's ... not the kind of person who even needs a wish.</p><p>
  <span class="small">Or deserves a wish.</span>
</p><p>"I … not yet. I don't have a wish. Maybe later-" </p><p>
  <em> Do take care to not wait too long. Your enormous potential may go to waste. </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Stasis</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Calem reccieves a lot of information at once. Serena frets.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong> <sub><em>Information pulled from the MTA (Magi Tracking Array) - The best magically enhanced and concealed information system in Europe.</em></sub> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <sub><em>MTA - Magi Tracking Array. </em></sub> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <sub><em>The MTA is a continent-wide supercomputer constructed approximately two hundred years ago around the Soul Gem of a Magi who displayed use and knowledge of technology that would not exist for centuries to come. Within a year of contract, the magi suffered a total loss of physical body, and instructed for herself to be integrated with her machinery to create the core of the MTA.</em></sub></strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <sub><em>Since then, the MTA has expanded to have nodes across much of Europe, and catalogue thousands of Magi, both living and otherwise, including herself, via the development of a compressed version that can be stored on a soul gem and shared, whilst maintaining the link back to the main database.</em></sub> </strong>
</p><hr/><p>So she gets one wish. For anything, regardless of limits</p><p>"Calem - hey-" The boy had been watching the news with something akin to … horror. To Serena's eyes, at least to her eyes. "What did you wish for?-"</p><p>"I-it's a long story."</p><p>He's <em> fixated </em>on the screen now - the attacks are all over the news. She fiddles with her cup - </p><p>She could bring her dad back to life- or drag her sister out of whatever nook she dived into-</p><p>"I - I bunked off school, you know that-"</p><p>"Mm-"</p><p>"And went down to the theatre- I got caught in the shooting-"</p><p>Serena glances at his hands - fiddling with the fabric of his shirt- </p><p>"I wished to live- I wished to live-"</p><p>Oh. "Shit- I'm sorry I shouldn't have asked-" "Don't sweat it." She isn't the sort of person who deserves a wish, see - see - Calem's was to save his life - as she assumes. It's ... a stupid idea - but still..</p><hr/><p>Arielle left half an hour ago. Calem's been… twitchy, to say the least. She watches him scan the area - once, maybe twice -</p><p>Heck, he's doing it now. </p><p>"A-anyway, Arielle said that there's going to be someone dropping by to - er -"</p><p>Serena hates the noise of people drinking. </p><p>"Log me into the system."</p><p>Calem doesn't see anyone else unusual - just a tall blonde man at the counter.</p><p>
  <em>
    <sub> 'They, please.'</sub>
  </em>
</p><p>Oh. He wasn't expecting that. Calem is getting slightly uncomfortable with the idea of Telepathy. The person orders - what Calem notices is just black coffee - and slides onto the end of the bench. Serena straightens up. </p><p>
  <em>
    <sub>Hi. I'm Omnis, Leader of the south sector. I'm just here to take your details. Name, age, powers and wish, stuff like that.</sub>
  </em>
</p><p>The voice doesn't really fit to the person, they think. Slender, rather delicate looking - and a dumb name, too.</p><p><em><sub>I heard that.</sub></em>Omnis coughs into a closed fist, and pulls a notepad from ... somewhere.</p><p>
  <sub>Anyway. Name, age, and wish?'</sub>
</p><p>Does he really want to re-explain it to someone else? </p><p>He doesn't even know what's happening to this information-</p><p>
  <sub>'This information will be stored in the Mage Tracking Array. It's a age old set of communication nodes around Paris. Two hundred odd years old, created and held up by layers of magic plastered on like so much wallpaper.</sub>
</p><p>Calem takes a long, slow drink of soda. </p><p>
  <sub>Calem Xavier Maigrét. Fourteen, and I wished to live. I'm a Archer, and I can heal -</sub>
</p><p>
  <sub>'Just yourself? And how fast?'</sub>
</p><p>He already <em> knows </em> this information, despite being contracted a day at best. <sub>'Anyone, up from the soul gem in a minute or so.'</sub></p><p>"Hm." They're . . . Quite frankly, unsuprised. This whole city is basically a potential battery - seeming to heighten pre-existing potential or creating it in those who otherwise wouldn't have it. Though they do suppose non-female contracts occur worldwide, for certain.</p><p>That's firmly in the realm of miraculous - but there's got to be a catch in there <em>somewhere</em> -</p><p>
  <sub>'I could probably heal more than two people at once - but I'd need a grief seed soon after to make up for the exertion-''</sub>
</p><p>Theere it is. </p><p>Well. They suppose that'll make sense. </p><p>They guess that he'll learn to keep a eye on his gem of his own volition </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Carnation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Serena makes herself blank.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Serena knows she doesn't always make the best choices. But she's fourteen. She's meant to get all the stupid out her system now and then be a perfectly responsible adult.</p><p>"Rena?"</p><p>Oh - and her mother. Serena throws her hat at the hat stand, then her coat - and kicks her shoes off. </p><p>Grace upped and moved to Paris back in ...two-thousand and twelve after the accident, dragging a eleven year old Serena into a new country very different from Las Vegas. </p><p>Too different.  </p><p>"I went to check on Calem. His mom liked the cookies. He's alright."</p><p>Grace is still watching her over her book - probingly. She knows how her daughter responded to the incident - school yard fights, detention after detention, and by some small miracle, had only gotten excluded from one school. She's patched up too many bloodied knuckles.</p><p>She knows how she copes - lord knows she tries to help - but there's only so many explosive fits of anger she can weather. </p><p>She can understand that seeing one's own sister go off the rails so hard, and discovering the body of one's own father so - so - <em>cold</em> - no. </p><p>Grace decides not to think of that again.</p><p>"Get yourself some mac. Fresh."</p><p>Serena skulks upstairs. She'd like to say she'd made her mind up ... but nope. If she does, she'll need to make it  worthwhile - she <em>can</em> wish for anything she desires - but ... she wants her wish to be good. Like the magical girls in the <em>mahou shoujo </em>shows she watched as a kid.</p><p>She can't waste this, after all. Once in a lifetime</p><hr/><p>Serena sees it behind her eyelids sometimes- the whole scene. Her sister had turned up out of the blue - scrounging cash, maybe - stealing, definitely. Serena had her focus set on her DS. </p><p>Had snuck away a little carnation pendant whilst her father had it off to clean - and been caught. Easily. By all means, her father should have had no issue against her sister - the man was <em>huge -</em> and strong like a ox. She supposes that explains her build.</p><p>But no. Serena had gotten bored - interest piqued by the sound of scuffling- and a yell -</p><p>And seen her father - bleeding profusely from... from wounds Serena cares not to think about- stabbings - </p><p>A cat dozes on the washbasket - large, white, and shedding on every single item Serena owns - </p><p>"Still out cold, Miaou?" </p><p>She's still rather pleased with that name. Miaou... probably doesn't care for Serena's wit.</p><p>No, no. She can't let that surface. Think good memories, focus on her hair - part, brush, comb, coconut oil, repeat - </p><p>
  <em>I took the opportunity to drop by.</em>
</p><p>Serena blanches. The ferret ... thing. </p><p>
  <em>Pardon my manners - but I think that I must press upon you the enormity of your potential </em>
</p><p>"Don't need a preacher. Don't care to make shit about me." She cares to put what she considers a snarl on the end of her sentence- counjours a new sentence that doesn't leave her mouth-</p><p>
  <em>You say so. Yet you cause trouble in school, beat your knuckles bloody for anger's sake, to rub salt in the wound, as you humans say.</em>
</p><p>"That's not your business. Don't need your sticking your nose where it shouldn't be."</p><p>
  <em>Letting you sit up here without character is a waste of potential. You are strong. Stronger than Calem by far - maybe moreso. Make a contract with me.</em>
</p><p>She wants that. Magic, so she doesn't have to sit up here and make herself flat and uninteresting for her own sake. Magic, to maybe make something worthwhile of herself.</p><p>"Fine. <span class="big"><strong><em>I wish to choose how I am remembered- I don't want to loose the good memories."</em></strong></span></p><hr/><p>Serena feels it in every atom of her body - twisting, every nerve screaming with pain as she is bathed in red light - she should be <em>screaming -</em> crying with agony - but she doesn't - can't -</p><p>
  <em>Congratulations. Your soul has successfully reduced Entropy. Take your soul gem, for it is your destiny.</em>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Pause</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Calem is kept awake. The playing field is neutral. Time to relax.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Serena toys with the gem in her hand - blood red and crested with a six petaled flower - before eying the ring on Calem's hand - Some indistinct shade of blue - maybe lapis lazuli, or denim blue-</p><p>"Can I see your gem?"</p><p>She didn't expect to startle Calem like that - but the boy was drifting off for a second -</p><p>"It's nothing special. Just my soul." He spouts that so ... nonchalantly, shifting the cat on his chest. She's almost alarmed.</p><p>Still, he complies - summoning the thing to his hand as if it was secret nature. It is now, really. </p><p>She's barely been contracted a day, hasn't transformed, doesn't even know her power set; yet she already understands the etiquette - don't touch another's soul gem without explicit permission. Don't put any soul gem in the way of danger- standard stuff, she thinks. </p><p>"Can I hold it? I wanna check the colour of mine." </p><p>Calem nods, and Serena holds … Calem's gem … <em> Calem </em> … up to the light. Light doesn't shine through it - more just shine from it. Maybe she could use her <em> her </em> as a torch if she made it glow</p><hr/><p>There's a lot of knowledge she's obtained - or to herself, seems to have always known somewhere. Such as her weapon - probably a polearm. And is already getting good wiggle room with her short range telepathy. She's testing it on Calem as the boy reads, quietly nosing around in his head - nothing too far back - though, the picture of his contract is <em> shockingly </em>clear. </p><p>Serena jolts in place at one - a smear of blood - and light - </p><p>Calem flinches - and almost jumps up, upsetting the cat, and knocking his head on his bedside lamp. "Serena-"</p><p><em> <sub>Sorry! Sorry. You want your gem back.</sub> </em>Serena's thoughts sound sheepish. Again. </p><p> </p><p>Calem manages something he hopes is a withering glance- and allow himself to drift off to sleep as he watches Serena repeatedly transform and de-transform for no good reason.</p><p> </p><p>They can make this work, he thinks.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Shift</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Calem's lost track of time.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Calem has long since given up on any semblance of normalcy. His parents up and leave on some business trip, he heads out on witch hunts with Serena, and slam his way through school.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Heck, it feels like it's been more than </span>
  <em>
    <span>two </span>
  </em>
  <span>measly two weeks - </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hey -" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Serena is perched a few feet away from him on the counterweight of a crane - the ever present superhuman parkour skills of a Puella Magi - fully transformed. She complains about the design of it - bright red and gold, sleeveless empire line and long, bicep length gloves with some odd loose puffy strip of taffeta that irritate her no end - </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You see the trombone girl?" Calem points with his bow at a girl in a band uniform sidling towards what just </span>
  <em>
    <span>has </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be the access portal to a Labyrinth -</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She's from the West sector-" Serena positively splits into a grin- and dives to the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Calem tucks himself back into his windowsill, and prepares for a scuffle. He expects nothing special, mostly just because Serena outpowers him ten times over with frightening ease. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That and his recent discovery that close combat isn't exactly the best for him staying in one piece.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Be careful. I'll cover you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That's how they work. Serena is the one woman army, Calem the support-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There's the sound of a tuba blasting out, and ground shattering - and the screech of metal on metal</span>
</p><p>
  <span>- to deal with whatever Serena hasn't already ... dealt with. He still doesn't quite understand what her weapon is either. Some kind of scythe - but misshapen - definitely not a-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Got distracted, crap, crap-</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>It is January of 2016, and Esme is very, very tired of this all. All she does is eat, sleep, take medication, and stare at her phone. Dover hospitals get dull. Hospitals get dull.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not like she has anything else to do, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>god</span>
  </em>
  <span> is she bored stiff. She means, she'd be less embarrassed if it was something other than a incredibly stupid volleyball injury - That'd be something worth missing the season for. Something worth letting her team down for. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mm, it's lights out she guesses, watching the lights shut off in the hallway - and then the ward itself. A high, almost tinny voice cuts into her head, and Esme winces. Too loud. Too sudden.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Good evening, Esme. My name is Cubee, and I have a offer for you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Whatthe-</span>
  </em>
  <span>" Ferret. But with … ears growing out of the thing's ears -</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Across the Atlantic, a young woman sits in a New York cafe, nursing a bagel over coffee. Her gem is beginning to tug at her, gently, like a small child on the hem of a skirt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pull will get stronger, she knows. But until then, she'll keep her head down. Keep her cards hidden.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Pace</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Rebecca has a meeting to attend. Calem is crafty</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"What do you <em>mean</em> you're in Holborn- I said Angel station-"</p><p>The young woman tucks herself closer against the wall of the station, positively hissing into her phone-</p><p>"No, I <strong>know</strong> what I said- look, it's ten already, just get here. I'll tell them you're on your way."</p><p>Ugh- this is what she gets for trying to get more than two people at the same place at the same time- either way, she'd better get moving. It's not every day a foreign magi turns up offering to link you and your trainee up into some centuries old new age magical tech.</p><p>She wishes she could say that it took weeks of organizing to get the other magi to allow it, but there's only seven of them total in London, and most democracy is done in a Sainsbury's parking lot at three am. She guesses everyone's too busy with the overwhelming surplus of Witches in London to bother with worrying about getting your kills stolen. Anyhow. Enough dallying. She sweeps her braids up into a high ponytail, and crosses the street</p><p> </p><p>Omnis finds themselves in a small cafe up on the first floor of a supermarket, facing a girl with some of the brightest silver eyes they've seen on a person. Particularly striking, they think. Model potential, definitely. "Rebecca…" "Green."</p><p>Rebecca finds herself across from someone she can only describe as looking oddly like a Tolkien elf. Blue eyes, blonde hair, the works. It's alarming, she thinks. "Omnis Xavier Lundin."</p><p>They adroitly drop a cube of sugar into what looks like… some foamy hot drink, and stir. <em>That's a stupid name. </em></p><p>"My parents were into Latin. So sue me." Rebecca snorts. Another telepath.</p><p>Sure, all Magi are telepathic, but some moreso. She supposes they're one. "My mentee will be a little late. She got lost on the tube."</p><p>"I can understand that. I'll wait, the MTA needs physical presence to be installed. Just a gem is-" Rebecca relaxes in her chair, and tunes out of the conversation as a waiter slips a menu in front of her. She'll just have a panini, she thinks. It's rather expensive here.</p><p>Out of the corner of their eye, Omnis catches a figure jumping from rooftop to rooftop- and then landing in a shaded corner of the shopping centre. Minutes later, a young girl enters the cafe and seats herself next to Rebecca. "Omnis, this is Maria-" The girl seems thoroughly in the business of stowing her school bag under her chair. "Maria Duncan. Sorry I'm late, got lost on the tube and ran from Holborn."</p><p>She knows that she would have been even later had she waited for a bus, and hey, the run from Holborn to Islington is nothing if you know where to jump, and exactly how to conceal your presence with enough magic. She's rather proud of it. Omnis clears their throat. "Thank you for attending. I need some basic information, like name, age, soul gem colour and weapon type. Standard stuff. Just summon your gem -"</p><p>Maria has already done so, setting her gem on the table. Rebecca is, however, much more cautious. The cafe is empty enough for nobody to notice - but a regular human could come in - Ah, well. She summons her gem, and sets it on the table, glowing a deep blue</p><p>next to the piercing orange of Maria's gem. "Rebecca Green. Nineteen, blue gem, modular greatsword-slash-sabre thing. Maria?" "Maria Duncan, thirteen, orange gem, spear-slash-railgun fusion. I can call down lightning, if that adds anything-"</p><p>Omnis mutters to themselves, and Maria finds herself looking directly into their soul gem for a second - and then she's not. "Done. You can put the gems back into ring form. You should expect to see data overlay your vision in a manner akin to witch runes - navigation is by thought, you know the drill-"</p>
<hr/><p>No, they do not know the drill. Maria does find this slightly unsettling, having a tiny computer interface in the corner of her vision, but she does suppose she'll get used to it. She supposes she has to.</p><p>Either way- Rebecca drops down next to her, and eyes up the elevator doors in front of them, which lay open enticingly. Maria fiddles with her soul gem ring as she peers into the lift itself.</p><p>"We know there's a Witch in there. I just feel uneasy." Her mentor simply casts her an easy smile, and saunters into the lift, transforming in a flash of blue.</p>
<hr/><p>Calem is wholly unsurprised he managed to pull this off. A thin layer of some nifty persuasion magic, and the parents are perfectly fine with him running off to London for the holiday. Serena's mother, that is.</p><p>His own parents generally never seem to care where he is, just sending some chaperone with him. Well, the chaperone is fairly easy to shake off. Yada Yada magic on humans, something. He's picked up more information than he cares to think about.</p><p>Hell, his parents are even paying for their hotel. "This is <em>classy</em>, Calem." Serena's just finished unpacking her things - and pressing her face against the room's window, having decided to check out Calem's room too- "It's a Premium Inn, how good can it be?"</p><p>Serena sticks her tongue out at him, and he throws his toiletry bag at her. The situation dissolves into a pillow fight in seconds</p>
<hr/><p>Well, Marie guesses she'll bite. She transforms - orange on white, on a black undershirt, and fiddles with the beret she now wears. Into the lift she goes.</p><p>She's always been jealous of Rebecca's costume, all sleek and sophisticated- and the waist cape over darker blue shorts is so cool, she thinks - somewhere between extremely futuristic and … dark academia, she thinks. Compared to her odd sort of military style uniform, she looks powerful.</p><p>Ah well. The lift is going down. Which, by the by, shouldn't be possible. She remembers them being on the ground floor.</p>
<hr/><p>Serena falls asleep on the rug at six oh five precisely. Calem … doesn't know what to do. He can't leave her there, he can't move her back to her room - fuck it, he'll just … stick his second pillow under her head like that. And throw that spare blanket over her.</p><p>Better than nothing. Or should he give her his duvet? Eh, she'll be fine. Tough girl.</p>
<hr/><p>Rebecca now believes herself to be three storeys below where the Museum of London should have ended, and she… The elevator grinds to a halt in what looks like an old mine shaft to her. By her side, Maria summons her spear and shifts partially into a neat ready posture, as Rebecca pokes her head out of the lift, and scans the area. "<em>Clear</em>."</p><p>The signal prompts Maria to creep forward, before signalling a coast clear. The second Rebecca enters the mine shaft proper, she draws minimal attention. A small matchbox familiar is crushed under her boot, and she trudges down the main corridor. The walls shift, sometimes glittering with diamond and coal, other times blank stone - and a few metres in, she needs to summon her weapon - a large, curved greatsword shot through with streaks of blue- and if she looks closely, the lines indicating where the thing segments like a whip.</p><p>"Maria - go start blasting holes in it." Christ, she can see the bloody Witch! Why are these familiars swarming her- it's taunting her, almost.</p><p>Five steps forward,and a careless swing of her blade slams a path clear for her-</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Catherine </em>
  </strong>
</p><p>"The Breaker Witch-"</p><p>Rebecca arrives just in time to watch Maria blast an arm off the Witch- a large, malformed automaton with many rusted arms to tear sheets of metal from itself and crush them between it's own cogs - and land on the labyrinth floor in an undignified crouch. Maria knows she's bleeding heavily - rusted shrapnel embedded in her stomach and cheek - but that's not the issue here.</p><p>She spreads her arms wide, and a circle of railgun-spears form in the air around her. Every hit she makes causes more shrapnel to fly out at her - and she wants nothing more than to blast this thing to hell and back.</p><p><em>One</em>-</p><p>The innermost circle of weapons fire a concussion round-</p><p><em>Two</em>-</p><p>And then the weapons themselves fly after it. She takes a smattering of shrapnel to the chest</p><p><em> Three</em>-</p><p>The outermost circle starts a bombardment of some small explosive projectile, and Maria pulls a long shard out of her eye, gritting her teeth.</p>
<hr/><p>Calem has only been here a few hours, yet he already feels a Witch in each direction. A stark contrast to Paris, he remembers, where the Magi population is so dense with so few witches to go around. It's barely possible to go anywhere without infighting.</p><p>Serena is still asleep on the floor. If he looks close enough, he can see the steady life shifting in her soul gem - and the little mark under her nail.</p><p>"Hey. <em>Hey</em>. Serena. Patrol."</p><p>He leans over her, and prods her cheek. "Come on." Serena flails, and kicks his shin. "Up. I will pick you up." And he does. She stays on her feet when set upright- but groggily - and comes round to the sound of a crappy hotel kettle finishing a boil.</p><p>"Tea."</p><p>"Wha-"</p><p>"<strong>Tea</strong>"</p>
<hr/><p>-<em>Five </em></p><p>Rebecca swings her blade wide, and it segments, lengthening to dig into the main body with ease. A flick of her wrist, and the blades tighten, breaking Catherine down to large chunks of rubble.</p><p>She feels a large chunk of metal dig into her chest- and watches as Maria, bloodied as she is, turns the heap to dust with another concussion round. The metal shard comes free of her chest easily, slick with blood - before vanishing as the labyrinth collapses, leaving her standing on an abandoned tube platform.</p><p>"Here. Maria. Grief seed. Let's keep your gem charged so you don't need to worry about healing." Maria shakes her head - and she's promptly cut short by Rebecca holding the seed to her gem anyway. "I've had worse." Maria gives up, and de-transforms</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Stilling</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A unorthodox display of power, but okay Calem.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Calem sits perched on the edge of a skyscraper, easily too high to be seen by non-magical eyes. Ahead of him, the city stretches out for miles, lit up in the dead of night like very distant stars. </p><p>"Hey - Cal -" His companion stands a few feet away, perched on a rather large security camera, halfheartedly drinking something with tapioca pearls in. "How far do you reckon you can shoot?"</p><p>He shrugs, and summons a longbow, pulling back a blank shot. If he focuses on one point in the distance - a half lit tower block a half mile away - his vision zooms in, and he gets his target - a half dead potted plant set on the windowsill of a fifteenth floor room.</p><p>"See that tower block- the pot plant?"</p><p>"Nah. That's gotta be at least a quarter mile away and-"</p><p>Calem commits to the action, and loads an arrow, and fires. It takes maybe a few seconds before he watches the thing shatter, dropping to the ground shortly before the projectile de-manifests. Serena has no clue what he shot, but she hopes it wasn't alive. </p><p>"<em> Neat </em>."</p><p>Calem relaxes, and pulls his phone out. The signal is good up here, and he needs to message Arielle so she doesn't worry herself faint. </p><p>
  <em><strong> calemity</strong>: yo we're still going. </em>
</p><p>
  <em><strong> calemity</strong>: this city is ninety percent witches by volume and it's weird </em>
</p><p>
  <em><strong> calemity:</strong>no competition either. there's basically no fighting  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> arielle: Odd. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> arielle: definitely nobody? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> arielle: sounds too good to be true </em>
</p><p>
  <em> arielle: damn, and we're over here fighting for territory like foxes </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>"Cal. You feeling that?" Another soul gem- approaching up behind them. </p><p>"Mm."</p><p>"Calem. Another soul gem, approaching from behind."</p><p>He jolts, and peeks over his shoulder. Coast clear.</p><p>"Are you sure-"</p><p>Serena catches sight of a flash of gold padding towards her - definitely a person smaller than her - and opts to transform, and push the sluggishness out of her system with a burst.</p><p><em> " </em> <b> <em>Yes.</em> </b> <em> I'm sure. One person, coming up into close range. I'm prepared if it escalates."  </em></p><p>Calem hums out loud, but the telepathic response is a short burst of curses. </p><p><em> "Sere. Either they're not up </em> <b> <em>here</em> </b> <em> , or they're from your imagination. They would have introduced themselves." </em></p><p> Out loud, or in pers- </p><p>Serena twitches, summoning her war scythe, and bringing it to rest at the throat of what looks to be a small girl clad in vaguely boyish victorian gold and white costume - maybe twelve, thirteen, and probably the brightest blonde she's seen on someone who wasn't her father. Serena's lip curls, girl unflinching.</p><p>"Introduce y'self, blondie. Don't wanna have a slip of the hands."</p><p>Blondie raises an eyebrow. Serena drags her blade up, nicking the skin.</p><p>"Don't really feel well inclined to do that with a spear to my neck."</p><p>The blade inches up higher, drawing out a ribbon of blood, and Blondie remains stoic. And then sighs moodily, dropping to sit cross legged. "Bea. You're new. And on my turf."</p><p>Ah. The scythe vanishes from Serena's hands as she straightens.</p><p><em> " </em> <em> No need to panic, </em> <b> <em>Calem.</em> </b> <em> We've got company." </em></p><p>
  <em> "I wasn't panicking." </em>
</p><p><em> " </em> <b> <em>Sarcasm.</em> </b> <em> "  </em></p><p>"Well, you didn't introduce yourself, so of course I was on edge! And it's a war scythe, not a spear. Serena. The one in blue is Calem. Extreme long range archer, close range polearms."</p><p> </p><p>Bea visibly relaxes with the blade off her neck, sitting easier. "I don't want a fight. Just want to know what you're here for, I'll leave you be." Calem twists around to face the newcomer - and promptly notices he's the only one who hasn't transformed.</p><p>So, sore thumb it is. "Patrol. Intervene if anything goes sideways." Bea raises a eyebrow. Again. </p><p>"So you're saying you don't do that here?" The younger girl seems to mull that over for a second, toying with the polished gold chain that seems to hold her many-sizes-too-big jacket on. And her soul gem too, if he's to take a gender at that sun shaped jewel on the central links. </p><p>"It's just that there's not much Magi in Magi conflict to warrant patrols. Feel free to take potshots at a Witch, if you want to do something for me." She seems to word that as less of a suggestion and more of a … instruction. </p><p> </p><p>Calem isn't sure how he feels taking instructions from someone the same age as his sister.</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>Maria Duncan wakes up to the sound of her alarm blaring at her from across the room, sunlight filtering through the gap between her curtains. She's still tired, as she stumbles across her carpet, snags her phone off the shelf and dismisses the alarm.</p><p>The curtains are old - but well loved, she knows- as is much else in this small town council flat. Seen better days, but has seen many years. Right down to the flower pot hooked outside her bedroom windo- </p><p>"Well."</p><p>It's not there. Just the securing wires, and, if she looks down to the ground floor,  she sees the shattered remains of a terracotta windowsill pot. </p><p>"Shit."</p><p>She'll go down and get the pieces. Glue it back together, make a task of it, she supposes.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Dawn</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Calem remembers what he doesn't want to.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry for the delay! The tail end of 2020 kept me real busy. On a better note, I made a art dump blog for this fic! I post costume art and more at this link. Couldn't make it any neater looking, apologies. <a>”http://puella-magi-formation-magia.tumblr.com”</a> . It ... won't go on click, so either copy and paste or right click it</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>So …. Too many witches, too few Magi, is what he makes of the situation. It’s the complete inverse of the situation back home, and it’s a bit of a shock. The amount of infighting he’s had to scramble through -</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em><sup>A girl skids to a halt, and ducks into a tumbledown alcove and pauses to suck in breath. She’s run at least two metres … someone couldn’t possibly shoot that far. If she can just get back to the station she’ll be safe -</sup></em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Hell, he’d had his fair share of … unpleasant encounters. Needing to chase other Magi away from his kills - at times, Paris felt more like an open prairie instead of a world famous city. So many vultures circling a fresh carcass that there’s - there’s - </p><p> </p><p>
  <em><sup> An arrow imbeds itself into the wall next to her head, skewering one of her hair buns. If  she focuses hard she can feel the gem of her attacker - that blue sniper boy. Shame. He goes to that expensive private school in the richer part of the city. La Infini, if she remembers.</sup></em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Well, he's not going to dwell on that too long. He … doesn't think he deserves to remember that. Yet. Yet. Somewhere behind him, the new appearance sits down away from him, just out of earshot</p><p>
  
</p><p>o</p><p>"Bea, was it?" He … might as well try and be friendly, considering how Serena just recently held her scythe to her throat. "Want a Grief seed or something? We don't want to make the wrong impression."</p><p>The girl simply snorts at him, and mumbled something <em> sotto voce. </em>Something he recognizes as being rather more irritable than he'd understand. </p><p>Then again, scythe to the throat. Can't be good for the temper.</p><p>"Sorry, speak up. Missed that."</p><p>"Nothing."</p><p> </p><p>Serena … decides to settle in a little, crouching on a vent outlet.</p><p>
  <em> "Yo. Bea."  </em>
</p><p>The girl in question simply adjusts the overly large bow on the back of her head. </p><p>
  <em> "Me'n Calem are probably going to get some food soon." "Are we? I wasn't notified of this development-" "Hungry. Fast food places probably opening soon, and we've been up here all night. Wanna come with?" </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Bea considers. This isn't exactly the longest she's been up on patrol, and these are complete strangers … foreign too, if her guess at the accents is correct. French, and … American? Thereabouts. But, she supposes that she should be home soon, so early breakfast couldn't hurt. <em> “If you’re paying.” </em></p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>On the Channel Island of Jersey, a girl slides down a small side street and transforms in a discreet flash of deep navy blue before vanishing. </p><p>In Central Paris, Arielle shoulders a small travel bag as she double checks her door. A figure  in navy blue appears behind her as she turns to face them. </p><p>
  
</p><p>“Ah. Eve. Perfect timing. Just a second …” A security camera turns away in a haze of white, and both parties vanish from sight. </p><p>
  
</p><p>“There we go. I just need a second to recharge my teleports, then I'll get you off Jersey.”<br/>
The pair vanish yet again, and Arielle finds herself underneath a bridge struggling to hold the contents of her stomach down. Rapid fire teleports like that always make her rather queasy. Especially the long distance ones. “R-right. What do I owe you?” Eve shrugs. “Two, and thirty-” “Perfect-” Eve finds a wad of cash pressed onto her - and after some searching, two Grief seeds - glances up to find Arielle already gone,</p><p>Well, slight overpayment, but she won’t complain about an easy £40. She’s got a few more teleport requests to fulfill soon, and she supposes she should rush a little.</p><p>
  
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“So, let me get this straight. Too few Witches per Magi?” Bea takes another gulp of soda. “And now you have a Magi on Magi combat issue?” </p><p>“Right. There’s about… thirty six of us, at my last count-” “Y’gotta get real good real fast to live a while longer than a week-” </p><p>“So you paired up with Calem to make your chances better?-” Calem finishes the last of a burger, and sets into his chips. “Nah, it’s  mutual. We share our territory. Might as well, we go to the same school-”  Bea fidgets in place, and glances at her watch.</p><p>
  
</p><p>“Sure, sure, look - I get that, but why’d you come over here?” “Simple - curiosity. Serena and me needed a break, and we’ve got people who can watch our territory for a while. Just a bit of magic to make people look the other way, and bada bing bada boom-”  “I … right, sure … Thanks for the food,  but I gotta dash. Narrow schedule, yknow-” Calem opens his mouth to say something, and reconsiders. “Sure. You know where to find us. Probably."</p><p>
  
</p><p>He speaks too late - Bea has left already. </p><p>"...Want a dessert?"</p><p>"If you're payin'."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Whispers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Rumour, rumour, have you heard the rumours?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <em>Diegetic listening -<strong>Rumor Counting Rhyme (Katō Emiri)</strong></em>
</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>“Have you heard the rumour?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “No? There’s a new rumour going about?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Oh - I think this one’s true, this one’s gotta be - they say that if you walk up Tower hill at ten past midnight and write a person’s full name in the dirt there they’ll be found … dead … the next day…” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “No, That can’t be true - it can’t be - It can only be coincidence.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>  “Do you remember the girl from the set above us? The one they found in the-”</em>
</p><p>Rumors spread quickly around Saint Catherine’s school for girls. Bea and Eloise Hudson know this all too well. There was even one based around twins once - which did no favours to their reputations, being a set of perfectly identical twins. </p><p>S’not like they’re the only set here - but then again, they are the only identical set so far. So far. </p><p>“What’s your next class?” Elouise speaks in a hushed tone - making motions as if to straighten the clip on the side of her head. On a reflex, Bea reaches back to straighten the clip on the back of her head. They’d had a … disagreement on what their distinguishing factor was today. Bea was getting rather tired of wearing a bow clipped to the back of her head - Elouise was not. Completely irrelevant now. “Physics - Ugh, Mrs Stewart has a voice more powerful than bear tranquilizer - You have . . . . English Literature.”</p><p> “Wrong, Maths. We’re doing Pythagoras. Again. I'd rather not, but…"</p><p>
  
</p><p>Bea pulls to an abrupt stop, and jabs her thumb at a classroom door. "My stop. See you later." Eloise simply grunts, and disappears up the stairs. </p><p>
  
</p><p>Within half an hour, Bea is struggling to stay awake, as usual. She's more focused on half heartedly scratching down her class notes and not looking entirely dead to the world.</p><p> Against her better judgement, she carefully tunes in to the conversation around her- the usual secondary school blithe chat, she thinks -  until something catches her ear. </p><p>
  <em> "It's Tower Hill - you know the story - you go up at ten past midnight and someone you choose does the next day. Like what happened to Sylvia-" </em>
</p><p>
  <em> "I'm going to go up there later, see if it's true…" </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>A Rumour. Slightly deadlier than the last one, if she understands correctly . . . She remembers the hushed whispers after “Sylvia’s” accident, which she supposes has only made the damn thing stronger. She supposes that she should go take care of it … but she doesn’t really want to be up late today. She supposes she could cajole some help from … someone. Elouise is on lookout today, so … that narrows down her options quite neatly. </p><p>
  
</p><p>“<b> <em>Bea</em> </b> <em> ! Eyes on the board!” </em></p><p>
  
</p><p>Oh – <em> yeah </em>. The bear tranquilizer. More of that, yippee. She’s … got exactly twenty-five minutes left before lunch – </p><p>Elouise is only moderately surprised when Bea settles down just across from her emptying a bottle of off brand cola. She looks …well, bored stiff. As is she. Normally she’d forgo lunch and sequester herself away in the library with a pair of headphones and a good book. She’s just got to be discreet about it. As she does about most things, these days. </p><p>“So … you remember the girl who used to be in our Phys Ed class? Silver hair, grey eyes- “Terrifyingly good at contact sports? The other Bea? Didn’t she move up-country?”</p><p>“Yeah –“ <em><sub>'So, what’s the scoop-'  'New Rumour – Rumour of Tower Hill. Got to hit it at ten past midnight' – </sub></em>“I heard she was trying out for the nationals.” '<em><sub>I don’t know, I’m on lookout today, so – I suppose I can drop by- oh!'</sub></em> Elouise pauses mid-thought – and responds out loud “Negin’s in the area –“ </p><p>Negin Kirmani – one of the older Magi in London – maybe this whole section of the country, if she adds Rebecca. Older girls like her tend to be a bit … unhinged. She supposes it comes with the lifestyle. '<em><sub>Well, it happens. I’ll see how it all goes.'<sub></sub></sub></em> She supposes she’ll have to. Negin is very strong, she remembers. Must come of actually living past ... well, she doesn’t want to think about her life expectancy right now. </p><p>
  
</p><p>Nearly five hours later, Bea slips over a high fence and drops like a stone to land in a dry moat - and darts off into some concealed alcove. She finds the figure she seeks leaning against the nearby tunnel wall, bundled up in a long puffer jacket and some sort of tracksuit. “Negin?” The figure nods - and pulls her hood down, before traipsing off. Bea supposes she wants to get this over with. She does too. </p><p>
  
</p><p>“Rumour of Tower Hill, right? We’ll be in and out, real quick. Real quick.” Negin is already partway up the hill, she finds, with great trepidation. It wouldn't be far off to assume that one of the older girl’s strides was worth at least three of hers - so, she sort of … jogs along awkwardly. </p><p>“Yeah - you write a name-” “In the soil at the top of the hill, and that person dies within three days max - yeah, I get it.” </p><p> The ground is mulchy under her feet - the hill itself peppered sparsely with sodden grass well past it’s best. She’s been here before - on a school trip with her history class - and it hadn’t looked this downtrodden. Negin storms ahead toward the top of the hill, transforming into something vaguely resembling a heavily stylized air hostess uniform in a shade of lilac just a few shades darker than her hair, and she herself follows. She’s done this before. She knows the procedures, she - </p><p>
  
</p><p>Bea visibly shudders as she passes through some sort of barrier between herself and the </p><p>Rumour barrier - the effect that alters the memories of non contractees - and she finds herself buffeted by heat. Her hand brushes past the sheathed blade on her hip - the magical one, and pulls out a short sword from the folds of her coat. A replica blade - far from magical. </p><p>
  
</p><p>On second thought, maybe she should consider <em> not </em>attacking what looks to be a phenomenally large hand drawn bonfire- “Oh -”</p><p>Negin doesn’t think before throwing herself at the … thing. She finds it’s better to do things that way, nowadays - not like Bea, standing there like a deer in the headlights waiting to see if anything will deign to harm it. She narrowly sidesteps a barrage of fireballs, summoning a full set of five throwing knives, immediately lobbing them into the blaze indiscriminately. On closer inspection, this appears to be a Burning at the stake kind of situation - she can spot three figures bound to an upright wooden beam if she squints into the flames, and, on closer yet inspection, she sees that two of her knives hit a figure square in the head. That’ll do. </p><p>
  
</p><p>Bea breathes in deeply, and raises her blade as she drags herself forward. She does not like this at all. Her heart continues to hammer in her throat, feet unsteady - and she can almost feel her throat tighten - </p><p>
  
</p><p><sub>Oh no.</sub> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chrysalis</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Bea regrets tackling this rumour wholly.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Long chapter this week! I'm also preparing more accompanying art for the fic to be posted on the blog - it's linked in the work notes at the bottom.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> <span class="big">Warnings - vivid description of injury, vague description of a panic attack from “Every single one of Bea’s senses is screaming at her to run” to “Better - I - I’m good to go” </span> </em>
</p><p>
  <sub>Ohhh no.Not now. Not here -</sub>
</p><p>Negin does not notice Bea seeming to stew in some sort of … petrification - she does not notice the girl huddling back into herself, holding her blade like a tennis racquet - but she does notice the fact that this rumour is only half dead, and that she is yet to rectify that. Yet. She grunts, flinching by a new assault of heavy fire and embedding three more blades into the nearest moving thing. It’s … still not much.</p><p>If Bea doesn’t move soon she’ll continue to be a liability. With a noiseless shriek, she digs her heels into the mulchy ground, and digs the point of her heel into the head of a many limbed paper cutout creature, vaulting cleanly over it and losing her shoe in the process to land heftilly on something warm. Two more figures crawl out of god knows where, hands grasping for purchase. The air in her lungs burns, searing her windpipe.</p><p>Every single one of Bea’s senses is screaming at her to run. To get away from this - this - fuss. But that … goes against her wish. It goes against her … standards. So - she pushes herself forwards - one step at a time. She just has to grit her teeth through this. Again. She finds herself screwing her eyes shut as a burning sensation creeps up the right side of her body, and she frantically hacks within her radius to at least clear herself a pathway before feeling her blade bite into something hard. Within seconds her hands are damp - and she hacks downwards -feeling something crack open like an egg - and the heat dissipates around her.</p><p><br/>Negin is, to say the least, alarmed when Bea darts in out of the blue, lops her arm off, and then cleanly halves the heads of the remaining shadowed figures.</p><p>Well, she’d better see where that dropped. She’d rather not like to regrow a fresh arm when she can simply reattach her original - which it does, with a sick sort of squelching noise as she watches the bone regrow and the muscle fibres stitch themselves back together - slowly, slowly - so she’s got more than enough time to sit and watch her companion slump to the floor and appear to wheeze for air - or something visually similar. She … she’s never seen somebody react like that, especially to something as menial as a Rumour.</p><p>Then again … she’s had moments like that before and she doesn’t think that she’d like to be left to fend for herself like this. Negin stands, and wordlessly crouches down next to the girl - at a glance, she’d appear to be right.</p><p>“S’safe now. You cut the thing in half. It’s safe -” Bea swats at her shoulder, gem a good deal darker than before. “It’s alright. Just breathe with me - one” “two-” “That’s it … three . . . four” “. . . five . . . six-” The girl swallows - and drags the sleeve of her costume across her face</p><p>“Better. I- I’m good to go-”</p><hr/><p>She feels that she is, at the bare minimum, obliged to get Bea somewhere safe.</p><p>It’s the least she can do. There’s bound to be some cafe nearby - it’s just a matter of walking until you find one in this tourist trap of a city.</p><p>So, five minutes later, Negin finds herself in a cramped 24hr cafe surrounded by more variants of tourist tut than she thought possible. Bea nurses a mug of tea gingerly - too weak - and mulls the recent events over. A rumour she found, and set out to fight, and she loses it like that. Negin practically dragged her arse through that.</p><p>Not good, not good. “I’m … sorry -” Negin doesn’t look up from her mug. “For the arm - for … losing my cool.”</p><p>She receives a shrug in response. “No harm done-” “But I -” “No buts. I’ve had worse than a scratch like that.” Bea shudders to think what could be worse than accidental amputation. She won’t say she’s not taken some unpleasant injuries - but never from another Magi.</p><p>Ah - whilst she has that whole … magi on magi combat thing in her mind … “We have Tourist magi. Two of them.” Negin leans back in her chair. “So? Let them. Maybe they can help with the hunting.”</p><p>A matter of yards away, half a mile up, Calem sizes up the jump between two tower blocks - and jumps, effortlessly clearing the gap and landing on the balls of his feet.</p><p>He runs another thirty feet to vault across another gap - and continues to do so until he reaches what he supposes is Tower Bridge - blue steel girders, bright blue bascule bridge - and lands neatly down a little alleyway by the muted glow of a late night pub.</p><p>The boy tucks himself into a corner, ever careful to hide the bright flash of transformation - back to civilian clothing this time -and pulls his jacket up onto his shoulders properly and enters the pub.</p><p>He’s here to meet someone - scouring the bar -and then the tables - or maybe; if he pushes out a little magic he feels another soul gem in the corner of the pub by a glowing log fire, quietly resting - no output of power. There he goes.</p><p>Calem feels the barman scrutinize him as he orders - sprite - and he slinks off leaving a slight overpayment. He supposes he is rather tall for his age by now.</p><p>The person by the fire looks to be a few years older than him at most - no more than seventeen at most with pale green eyes he’d … he’d almost call … pretty- which he does find a little odd, but he supposes it’s pretty normal for people to find other people visually pretty - He sits up when he approaches, not meeting his eyes when he offers a hand to shake - which Calem does wordlessly, dropping himself into the opposite chair.</p><p>“Aldous. That -” the boy points to a dog wearing a yellow vest by his feet “is Lavender. My guide dog!”</p><p>Oh. He didn’t notice the dog. “Oh - of course. Calem. Sorry i’m late - got distracted on the way over -” Aldous just shrugs, and sips at something dark and carbonated - cola, probably - “Whereabouts in Belgium are you from?” Calem frowns. “I’m French. From Saint-Germain-des-pres, if you insist on the little details-”</p><p>“Ooh - Paris.” Calem digs in his bag for a minute before pulling out his phone charger … and, on second though, his plug converter to charge his mobile and settle into a mock comfortable silence for a quiet switch to telepathy. <sub>“Hey - Calem - I want to make this fast. If you sort out my travel and food I can get that mapping done for you.”</sub> Calem frowns - barely perceivable on his face <sub>“Hate to say this - I’m fine with that, but I can’t guarantee your safety. At all.”</sub></p><p>
  <sub>“Then so be it.”</sub>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Hastening</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Aldous falls out of his comfort zone. Calem returns to business as usual.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It is late in the day when Eve receives yet another call. The voice is smooth, speaking with a heavy French accent. Another teleport to Paris, for the third time that day. It’s not very far for her, but she’s beginning to feel a slight strain on her magic, despite the cost of her services paying for her food; and, at some point, she hopes her shelter too. There’s only so much more abandoned garage to abandoned warehouse she can take before she resorts to more...drastic measures. “Fine, but I’m charging extra for the time of day. Fifty quid.” Her takings for today total … one hundred and twenty pounds. That’ll sort her phone bill out for a few months, if she’s careful. The voice replies affirmatively. They have a second passenger to bring too . . . but she’d feel guilty taking another fifty… “Secondary passengers are cheaper. Forty, total Ninety.” The caller doesn’t seem to pause much for consideration at <em> all </em>.</p><p>“Half an hour - See you.” Half an hour, Tower bridge. She supposes she can get something to eat, then. </p><hr/><p>Calem slouches back into his chair, and scrapes his hair back into a low bun. “So. We got half an hour to kill. Do you mind if I knit?” He doesn't bother to wait for an answer, digging about in his bag for his wool and needles. Aldous grunts, and pops his headphones back on as Calem dozes off into his usual knitting haze as people come and go - new entrances marked by a slight woosh of cold air as the door opens and a barely noticeable uptick in the hubbub of voices, the sharp banging of empty glasses. He winces at the loud noises, biting back an open reaction to the images behind his eyelids, the taste of iron ghosting across his tongue as a spate of phantom wounds open up in his chest. </p><p>He swallows another mouthful of soda, and pushes back to a memory he can actually … process. Like … Patrol, back home. Calem wouldn’t balk at referring to Paris as a complete and utter death trap to <em> any </em> Puella Magi. He’d spend hours perched high up on buildings, trawling the streets below for either another Puella Magi, or a Witch. More often than not it would be another Magi, and he’d have to … defend his territory <em> like some kind of feral cat </em>because the damn incubators won’t stop contracting newbies -</p><p>He catches himself gritting his teeth again. “Nothing. S’nothing.” He still doesn’t like thinking about it at all. He very vividly remembers tracking a girl in pink through his arrondissement right down to the metro station and -  and <em> putting an arrow in her throat. </em>The sound of blood - air - </p><p> </p><p>“Calem'' - He ignores that. </p><p>“Calem. Transport’s here.” He jumps half out of his skin to very briefly catch the feel of a third gem discharging nearby - in the alleyway he arrived at, if he has to be more accurate. He stands up, and shrugs his coat back on before sloping out of the door leaving a loud burst of air in his wake, Aldous taking his time to follow after, Lavender in tow.</p><p>Eve finds herself leaning against a red brick wall, opposite two older looking boys - the taller of whom introduces himself as Calem - the voice from the call. She knows the green eyed boy; in passing only - as Aldous; Born blind, contracted relatively young, showed unusual power in a rare form of magic. She’s much less sure on his surname, but it’s the thought that counts. Calem pays upfront - and in cash, too - which … disconcerts her. She shrugs, and transforms - and then the three of them vanish from sight.</p><hr/><p>Her <em> first </em> definitive sensation is the smell … taste of city air - and then the sound of traffic, and … the pulse of ten, twenty, thirty soul gems around her - More than ten times what she’s working with back home. Very briefly, she stretches out her magic - and vanishes from sight wordlessly. She supposes she should get moving. </p><p>Calem gestures vaguely at his surroundings - and then stops himself, tingeing pink at the ears. Aldous <em> has a guide dog </em> - he’s probably unable to see his gesturing - which he rapidly covers up by shoving his hands in his pockets. “Right. We’re pretty sure that the catacombs are where the first three MTA computing nodes are- but of course, we can’t be sure without clairvoyance mapping-” He <em> sneezes </em> , mid gesturing for emphasis - before regaining <em> some </em> form of dignity. “But, we’re currently standing in one of the most overcrowded territories in Paris, so keep a feeler out for anything aggressive. I’m just here to make sure you don’t get shot at in view of non-magi.” Aldous … decides he’d rather avoid being shot at completely, suppressing a rising lump of bile in his throat, but … he supposes he wouldn’t mind a little excitement. </p><p>Ten minutes later, Aldous finds himself hastening through a underground labyrinth with his heart in his mouth - just desperately hoping to find something other than this all penetrating blackness - a spot of light, to at least let him know someone’s turned a light on somewhere - he can only see very bright light, really - and that’s how his clairvoyance manifests - outlines of light - and nothing else. “I - give me a moment -”</p><p> He … <em> feels </em> something, maybe several hundred feet down - a soul gem - and another, further up. If he just stretches out a little magic he can get a map. Floor plan if he wants to be specific.</p><p>“I’ve got it-<em> shit” </em> There’s a second of absolute silence before the air around him seems to almost <em> boil </em>before it pushes past him in a ripple of searing heat to pound into the wall opposite him. Aldous hears Calem twitch around - and feels the magic burst of a transformation.</p><p>Calem’s first instinct is to transform - and skid backwards a good six feet, narrowly avoiding another concussion missile from further up the tunnel. He … can feel a soul gem - but the <b>MTA</b> isn’t responding to his queries for information- so he can safely suppose that it’s being blocked from him - even as he summons his bow and shoots aimlessly into the dark behind him. He catches the brief flash of pale blue as Aldous transforms, silently unsheathing a wickedly sharp hunting knife before practically sticking himself to the wall. </p><p> The tunnel around them rattles, dust sloughing off of the ceiling as a figure darts past, coming to an abrupt halt a good few meters away from him - and to his surprise he recognises the person immediately, behind the heavy orange-white twin missile launchers;</p><p>“Alina Riem. <em> Nous ne serons pas une </em> <b> <em>minute</em> </b>. We’re not here to fight-” "Pourquoi devrais-je te croire? Mon territoire, mon artefact.” Calem shrugs. Alina has fair reasons to doubt his honesty - but so does he. Everyone in this city is very protective of their arrondissements to a fault, for a good reason. </p><p>“Look -” Aldous pipes up from his spot on the wall. He understood approximately 50% of what was just said - but he thinks he can make some inferences on the rest from tone and inflection. “Calem’s brought me over to map out the catacombs-” “<em> Génial </em>,vous impliquez aussi étrangers maintenant. Bullshit! You know that we wouldn't let you access our maps so you sneak in here to make your own.</p><p>“...” Calem pauses, and mulls it over. He’s not in the best conditions for a fight - and he’d just rather <em> not </em> -  but he supposes that this has gotten out of hand, as usual. “If you <em> insist </em>.”</p><p>He raises his bow once again - slightly askance and fires off three bolts simultaneously. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This idea started off as a AU on one of my blogs - and then went off the rails. Take a few characters I write, and sling them into a big pot of suffering. Add other characters to taste. Here's the link to the art dump blog! I can't make the link work, so just copy and paste it or the like <a>”http://puella-magi-formation-magia.tumblr.com”</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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